A Place Called Home
by Lisa Rentahl
Summary: Logan has yet to join the X-men. Jean has to deal with her growing attraction to Logan and her relationship with Scott.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, they belong to Marvel and Marvel alone.**

**Summary: In this story, Logan has yet to decide whether or not to sign up with the X-men. This is a LoganJean fluffy fic, some Scott bashing ahead (last chance for Cyclops fans to run screaming for the hills).**

**Category: Teen **

**Personal Note: This is my first stab at fanfic, so please be as kind as you can possibly be :D   
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**A PLACE CALLED HOME**

Logan would be the first to admit that it started out more or less as a game. After all he enjoyed the hunt. He enjoyed the fact, he could tell from his heightened senses, how flustered she became around him. He could tell as soon as he entered the room, that her heart and her breath quickened in his presence. He liked seeing her smile politely, at him and quickly avert her eyes, trying to avoid his.

And to make things more interesting is the fact he got the boyfriend, Scott, all riled up in a big angry ball. He took a quiet delight in sensing "the boy" Scottie, bristle with raw dislike, when he entered the room. Logan had a number of times, deliberately stood closer than necessary to Jean, with "the boy" looking on, baiting him to pick a fight. He did not like pretences and empty polite gestures, and "the boy" Scottie, reeked of it.

Logan began to feel sorry for Jean, for having to put up with "the boy", clearly it was a mismatch, he thought. He began to think may be he could teach her to see the error of her ways by drawing her attention away from "the boy", and chalk it up as an act of kindness on his part. He would be there of course to comfort her, giving her the speech of how it is better to know now she deserved someone better, someone who could draw her out of her shell; someone who would make her light up from the inside.

Logan decided to make his move on the eve of his departure from the Mansion; he had turned down the Professor's offer to join the X-men. He knew where Jean was, because it was a habit of hers to stroll around the Mansion's grounds at the end of the day. He followed the scent of peonies and roses, and it leads him to the furthest corner of the grounds. As soon as he sees her, he immediately picks up on her surprise, and delight in seeing him out here, yet her face does not reflect any of this. Unexpectedly he feels a lurch in his heart, and at a loss for words.

"Out for a smoke Logan?" Jean breaks the awkward silence, and he detects the barest hint of a tremor in her steady voice.

He looks down at his cigar. "Well..."

"Don't worry, I'm sure the Professor wouldn't mind your smoking out here," she walks pass him, her scent filling his senses, tugging at comfortable memories just out of reach.

"I came out here to see you."

Jean stops and turns to look at him. He can hear her heart beating faster, and he can feel his own catching up in rhythm.

"I'm leavin', and I wanted to say goodbye."

She gives him a sad smile. "I hope you find what you are looking for." Jean then proceeds to make her way back to the mansion.

"Jean…" Logan calls back to her, and that is when he hears her voice in his head, gentle but final. _I'm with Scott, Logan. _


	2. Chapter 2

Logan chooses to leave at the break of dawn, reasoning that this way he would avoid all the goodbyes and unnecessary angst. _I don't belong here;_ just as he thinks this he unconsciously looks up at the window to what he knows to be Scott and Jean's room. He can see it is still dark, and he guesses that they are asleep in each other's arms. He quickly mounts his bike and leaves without looking back.

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The dreams of Jean Grey came almost regularly after he left the Mansion. But much to the annoyance of Logan, they never involved "indoor sports". She was always fully clothed, and was always at some far away corner of a room, she never said anything.

In this particular dream he is romping around with a voluptuous blond, in a seedy bedroom somewhere in Mardipoor, and there she is standing by the bed, with her head cocked to one side silently looking on. He nearly flings the dream blond across the room in shock of her apparent invasion.

"Christ Red, what the hell do you want?" he barks.

And Jean just sits in the nearest couch without a word.

"This is _my dream_, _my mind_ the least you can do is strip as an act of courtesy!"

Logan suddenly realizes the absurdity of the situation. _Jesus, I'm arguing with a figment of my imagination. _

Jean merely crosses her arms across her chest, in quiet defiance. A gesture that clearly said, make me.

He gets out of bed, and strides towards her. She looks up at him, stonily. He is going to pick her up, toss her on the bed with the blonde and have a threesome. No problem, this is his dream after all. Instead, he kneels down so that his eyes are level to hers.

"What are you doin' here?" His voice softer. He cannot sense anything from her, as is the case with dreams. He reaches out to touch her face, and before he can she is gone. He gives a weary sigh. He turns and sees his dream blonde gone too.

"Perfect," he mutters. "This is just doin' wonders for my libido."


	3. Chapter 3

Jean Grey was experiencing problems of her own back in the Mansion. Since the beginning of the year, she began to suffer what she came to call "off-days" with her powers. A condition best described as a fluctuation of her telekinetic and telepathic abilities. Her powers would wan, or it would surge and at times it wasn't even there. It frustrated Jean; it reminded her of the time she broke the thermostat gauge back in her childhood home, no way to guess which way the temperature was going to swing. At the start she did not pay much mind to it, thinking that perhaps it was the result of having added responsibilities in the Mansion.

As time wore on, and Jean gradually became comfortable with her new schedule of activities, she noticed her "off-days" became more frequent, intervals between each episode shortening. The physician in her told that it was not right, that something was wrong. It is a symptom to a nameless disease. But these things were not taught back in medical school; she did not have the luxury of referring to a big book that told her how to handle these changes or what these changes meant.

The Professor, for the past two months monitored her brain wave activity regularly; he also telepathically tapped into her mind. He told her what should be comforting news, that there is nothing wrong with her. The psychic barriers are still there and so are her powers. Yet she could not shake the feeling of dread that there is something wrong with her. She imagined this is what it must be like for those people who insist that they are sick, yet there nothing is wrong with them physically. She feels as if she is headed for an abyss, not knowing when she will fall.

Jean tells all this to Scott, who patiently listens to her. "Am I sick? Am I dying? "

"Don't say that," he says and he takes her in his arms. Jean knows is he picking up on the torrent of emotions coming from their psi-link as his arms around her tighten; the fear, the frustration, the helplessness. "It's okay, it's alright…"

It is all Jean needs to hear, and the flood of emotions slowly ebbs away. Scott smiles at her seeing the gloom lift from her face.

"Let's go," he takes her hand.

_Where are we going? _ And he blocks her from reading his thoughts. She feels giddy in anticipation of a surprise.

Scott takes her into town. It is a ten minute drive from the Mansion. They take a leisurely stroll around. Jean has forgotten the charms of Salem, the Victorian antique shops, the town center where the band stand is, the market with the fresh produce on displace outside. She notices a little coffee shop, and Scott takes her there for a Danish and coffee.

"Hey, I remember this place."

"You do? Want to jog my memory?" Scott says as he arrives carrying their order in a plastic tray.

"This is where we had our first date! I can't believe you forgot that!" Jean playfully punches him in the shoulder.

"I was just teasing. Of course I know!"

Jean rolls her eyes, not believing him. It is moments like these that Jean wishes she could just have a normal life. Free from the burdens of responsibilities of being mutant, bearing the torch of their cause. She sits quietly and watches as the street lamps light up as it steadily gets darker, and cooler.

"I always liked the idea of getting a place here, you know, so life in the Mansion and our personal lives just don't bleed into one another." Scott sips his coffee.

Jean smiles at the idea. It is almost as shameless as running away to some far away place. "Lovely as that sounds I don't think Ororo will be thrilled in taking over our responsibilities in the Mansion. By the way, I didn't tell you the Professor and I, are having a meeting tomorrow."

"So, don't you guys talk every day?"

Jean shakes her head. "Of late I have been too busy with my classes and training in the danger room." She pauses before she says the next thing. "I've been avoiding him too."

"Why?"

She chooses her words carefully.


	4. Chapter 4

Professor Charles Xavier waits in his office patiently for his protégé Jean Grey. He has been worried that this condition with her powers is taking its toll on her. He's upset that he cannot do anymore for her, but he believes that he may have a solution. But he is not sure if Jean will even agree to it.

Jean arrives, and she looks a little nervous. "Professor, you wanted to see me."

"Ah yes, I've checked these access logs to Cerebro, and I noticed that you haven't logged in for two weeks now. Is there a problem?"

"Professor, I don't think I am ready to handle Cerebro, I don't think I'm the right person to pass the responsibility on to."

This is not the answer he was expecting to hear. "Jean, have you picked up on anything unusual with Cerebro?"

"No." He can tell that there is something that is clearly bothering her.

"Jean, you must understand that the things you will see with this machine are not all real. I know that some of the thoughts you pick up may be disturbing at first, but it helps in understanding other mutants. As of now there is no telepath whom I would trust with such great power. When the time comes you will be responsible for Cerebro."

She sighs. She is trying to find the right words to say, instead of showing him telepathically what is bothering her. This convinces him she is hiding something. "Professor, this problem with my abilities…" More struggling. "I'm just afraid I'll do more harm than good with Cerebro."

Charles cannot accept her excuse, because she never used her condition as a reason to stop her from enhancing her abilities. The Jean Grey he knows, has always used problems as challenges to strive even harder to accomplish her goals. Charles curbs the temptation to scan Jean's mind. He knows he can do this very subtly without Jean even knowing, but that would make him a hypocrite. He taught Jean first and foremost to respect the privacy of other peoples' minds. That as a telepath one should always be mindful of this ability more than other mutants, because it is easily abused. Of course there are circumstances wherein that rule can be broken or bent; and this was not one of them.

"Alright then Jean, until this problem with your abilities resolves. I also wanted to speak to you about your problem. I think I may have a solution, how do you feel about a vacation then?"

It's Jean's turn to be surprised. "You're sending me away?"

"Of course not. I recently spoke with a friend of mine, a blind mutant in Japan about your condition. He pointed out that, you may be experiencing a burn out. And he has offered to help only if you will agree to his terms."

"How hard can these terms be? You said it was a vacation."

"Ayumu Tanaka, requires you to travel to his place in Japan. There he will teach you meditation techniques. Think of it more like a spiritual retreat. He also asks that during your stay there you forgo using your abilities."

"Oh. And how long would I be there?"

"Until he believes you are cured, which means indefinitely."

He can see her weighing her options. Charles knows that Jean has never been away from the Mansion for long periods of time, even in medical school and during her specialty training, she made it a point to return at least once a month. The Mansion and the people in it are her world, her family.

"I see. If I agree to this, when will I leave?"

"Within a day or two, enough time to wrap up things."

"Wrap up?"

Charles can see her concern with the arrangement deepening. "He also wants you to sever your psi-links."

"That is extreme."

"I know, but he believes that removing all ties to the Mansion will be of benefit. Jean, no one is forcing you to do this. It's still your choice in the end."

She nods. She knows this, but she still feels it is the only chance she has. She thinks of Scott, and her mind goes back to their date last night. She saw him pull out a tiny black box from his pocket at the café, she knows what it is as he lays it down on their table and presents it to her. She beamed as she opened the box, in it a ring, with a round center diamond set in a melee diamond wreath.

_He proposed didn't he?_

Jean didn't realize she mistakenly projected her memory to the Professor, his voice in her head startles her from her reverie. _Yes._Her smile fades.

_But..?_ His forehead knots.

"I'll think about this 'vacation'. I'll let you know tomorrow what my decision is."

She anticipates for him to press her. There is a long pause.

Finally, he nods to her. "Very well Jean."

As Jean leaves the room, she remembers the last time she used Cerebro. She can still see Logan kneeling down, his brown eyes filled with warmth and a yearning for her that made her catch her breath even now. She banishes the thoughts of what could have happened if she had not terminated the link; the important thing is she did. She realized this is how affairs start, well, psychic ones anyhow.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks for the reviews spedclass, I wish others would leave a review too, seriously I don't mind constructive criticism as long as they are constructive. (Sigh)

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**Chapter 5**

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Logan watches the scenery rush by as he sits in the Bullet train headed out to Kyoto. Even for something this fast he muses it's not fast enough to outrun his sins - or his past, which has a way of biting back even when knows so little of it. _Whoever said" what you don't know can't hurt you" is a goddamned moron. _

His mind wanders to the events that brought him to Japan over the past months.

Roughly a month after leaving the Mansion, he stumbled onto information that could provide him answers to his past. And who would have thought he would find it at a godforsaken bar located west to nowhere in Canada. That had been the kicker, the one time he isn't searching for answers to his obscure past the fates grant him just that a clue. A clue he would end up chasing half way around the world, all the way to Madripoor.

Logan was looking for work, and experience told him that his best chance to find it was to ask at a local bar for any random job openings. He guessed that since he stumbled on a mining community, there was bound to be a job as a miner one way or another.

As he entered the local bar - the only bar in the little town, the television was turned on to the news. No one noticed his entrance; the patrons were too busy concentrating on the news that unfolded. The news was covering yet another explosion in a public establishment in Mutant town, in New York City. This was the third of a wave of seeming random attacks on public establishments in the heavily populated mutant area, in the past year. Suspicion naturally fell on a militant group of mutant haters, known as The Friends of Humanity, that somehow their public abhorrence of mutants encouraged these attacks. Executed either by members of their organization, or by humans influenced by their radical views of mutants.

But what had changed in this latest attack was the presence of human casualties as well. The latest press release of the organization on their official website, described mutants as being "infected" as if with a deadly disease. And humans who condoned their presence, or consorted with these deviants were considered "tainted", and were viewed as "acceptable" losses in the war against mutants. A war they described as a "cleansing" of humanity.

Logan shook his head in disbelief; these were fast becoming dangerous times to be identified as a mutant. It was not unlike the times of the infamous witch hunts, even times of the Holocaust. It was always the same story, exterminate the ones who are different, exterminate the ones who are misunderstood.

What was more frightening was the fact that The Friends of Humanity was apparently backed by silent but rich corporations, who found ways to overwhelm, and even neutralize mutant abilities. He heard rumors of secret facilities that moved after a set period of time, performing inhumane experiments on mutants, but they were just that - rumors. No one had evidence to prove those claims. Although, Logan was inclined to believe in the rumors, there were gadgets on the market that could neutralize mutant capabilities. The technology of which, was far too advanced this only pointed to the fact they were fruits of experiments done on mutants. And from the vague recollection Logan had of his dreams he was sure he may have been one of those experiments.

As the news ended, slowly the patrons of the bar began to loose interest in the television. A few began to resume their game of billiards, while others their game of darts and the rest just sat at the bar with their beers and bowl of mixed nuts. The bar tender flipped to a random channel, as Logan settled into a bar stool. He ordered a bottle of beer.

"Say, Roy I think its high time you place a sign outside your bar saying you ain't serving muties." A medium built man, in his late twenties said. The man had black hair and a beard. He was seated three bar stools down from Logan. "I mean keep the rest of us safe you know. I wouldn't want to be blown to pieces."

"Carl that's exactly the kinda attitude that'll get ya kicked out of here. And don't ya be begging me to take ya back in once I ban ya from here." The bar tender was a burly man, someone in his forties with thinning hair.

"Aren't you even worried people might get the wrong idea of the kind of place you're running here?" A wiry man seated next to the man called Carl joined in the discussion.

"And who might those _people_ be? Besides do ya think a mutant will announce themselves when they walk in?"

"A mutie is easy to spot, they're all strange and weird looking – how can anyone call them human?" Carl actually sounded proud when he said that.

Logan wondered how he would fit in Carl's theory of mutants if he introduced himself as one.

"A female mutie is easier to spot; I hear they're easy and insatiable." The comment was followed by laughter from Carl and the wiry guy.

"You two idiots had better quit talking trash about mutants," A voice from the next room said. Logan guessed it may have been one of the billiard players, but he didn't turn around to see what the man looked like. The man's voice was gruff.

"Who you calling an idiot?"

"Bet you didn't know only five percent of mutants actually look different the rest of them are normal looking… anyone could be a mutant, might be you Carl, or Roy, or me - even the guy sitting next to you at the bar could be one." There was something in the tone of the last statement that Logan picked up on, as if it were addressed to him. Logan sniffed the air, but there was nothing amiss or unusual in the scents in the bar.

Carl and the wiry guy looked at each other uneasily.

Just then a man whose head had been shaven took a seat next to Carl and the wiry man. Logan saw an arm band tattoo on the man's left arm. The design, with its triangular and diamond shaped geometric patterns suggested the tattoo to be tribal in origin. The man ordered a bottle of beer, he was probably in his early thirties, and he was the owner of the voice that spoke earlier. Judging from the man's skin pigmentation and features, Logan ventured a guess that the man had Asian origins.

As if sensing Logan's assessment of him, the man looked over in his direction. "What do you think about this mutant problem?" The question was clearly addressed to him.

Logan shrugged. "I think mutants have just as much rights as regular people. I don't think all of them are bad."

"So you've actually met one." The statement or question was too direct for Logan's taste. Normally he would have thrown caution to the wind and just announced that he was a mutant to end the entire 'square dance' with words. And if anyone had a problem with his being a mutant, they could take it up with his claws. But every fiber in his being just told Logan to play this man's game.

"I'm sorry I haven't caught your name. I'm Logan by the way." He extended a hand towards the man with the tattoo.

"My name is Theo. Theobaldo Ferro."

As soon as the man with the tattoo said this, Logan was assailed by the most excruciating headache in his life. He knocked over his bottle of beer, and he followed it to the floor on his knees. His ears filled with an alien sound like the hum of a drilling machine. His head pounded, as if all the blood somehow pooled in there, stretching every artery and vein in his brain to the point of breaking.

Logan bit down a scream; his jaw clenched so tight he was certain he was going to break his teeth in the process. His hands covered his ears trying to block out the deafening alien sound that now reached a feverish pitch, adamantium claws unsheathing between his knuckles. Logan felt control of his senses rapidly slipping, and he knew in a matter of seconds he was going to blindly lash at anything or anyone. Through the fog of pain he hoped the people at the bar had the common sense to just flee from the scene as soon as they saw his claws bared.

Just as Logan felt the final thread of his will leave him, he heard a voice in his head. Clear, monotonous and unfeeling. _Stand down Wolverine. _Like the flick of a switch the pain was gone.

Logan looked up at Theo Ferro, who held out a hand to help him on his feet. As he took the man's hand, three things went through Logan's head. One, Theo Ferro was a telepath who knew something of his past; two he was developing a dislike for telepaths and three Roy now had a valid reason to refuse serving mutants.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, I edited chapter 5 -- well actually changed a few words :) Sorry this is a short chappy, my so-called life has caught up with me.

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**Chapter 6**

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"What have you done to my head?" Logan demanded.

"Nothing. Nothing my uncle hasn't already done."

The bar was empty now. Stark contrast to the busy, noisy atmosphere it was just a few minutes ago. Roy ordered every one out the second he saw Logan's claws bared. The bartender remained behind the bar, regarding Logan and Theo. There wasn't a trace of fear in Roy, as far as Logan could tell.

"Are you a mutant too?" It had to be the only explanation, the only reason why Roy hadn't fled with the patrons.

Roy shook his head. "I have a son who is."

Logan turned his attention back to Theo, who took a seat at the nearest table. Smoke rose from a hastily abandoned cigarette in an ashtray on the table.

"So talk Theo, who the hell are you?"

For the next thirty minutes Logan listened to fragments of his history from a man related to the one responsible for his memory loss. The man called Aldo Ferro.

Logan learned that he was part of an experiment to create weapons out of mutants.

The government foresaw the eventual disarmament of all nuclear weapons, but for all their good intentions to make the world a safer and peaceful place; paranoia and desire to keep power ruled out. They conceived a project, with the purpose of creating human – or rather mutant – weapons. The program, known as 'Weapon X' targeted mutants with regenerative abilities, because they were virtually impossible to kill.

An army of regenerative mutants wasn't a weapon of mass destruction, but such an army could win wars. And when used in covert and blackops -- which primarily was the purpose of the program – they could change the political destiny of countries.

The problem of course lay in the subjects themselves, the "weapons". Although they were mutants, they still had very human tendencies. That's where Aldo Ferro came into the equation.

Aldo Ferro was a disbarred psychiatrist. A native Madripoorian, whose stellar career in the field of psychiatry, crashed when a relative of a patient of his discovered the good doctor's "hobby".

Aldo was found to be dabbling with mind control techniques, using drugs and electroconvulsive treatments. The Board of Psychiatry felt if news leaked of Aldo Ferro's abuse of patient trust – it would bring into question every other psychiatrist's practice. So he was quickly and quietly disbarred.

But the people of Weapon X took notice of his work; within three months after Aldo Ferro's disbarment he was hired. It was during this time that Aldo Ferro explored what he believed was the next step in mind control techniques -- mind reprogramming. Aldo found that reprogramming ones mind, most especially that of mutants needed a lot more than just drugs and electroconvulsive treatments.

Aldo experimented with nanochips, but when that didn't work, he decided to add his telepathic abilities to the mix. Aldo hit the jackpot, his tenth attempt at his experiment proved to be a success. Logan was that experiment, codename Wolverine.

With his mind reprogramming technique, Aldo managed to alter, fabricate and even destroy Logan's memories of the life he had until the time he became a part of the Weapon X project. Aldo used pain receptors that could be activated by a carefully chosen word, visual cue, sound or even a scent and this in turn would activate the Wolverine.

Unbeknownst to the people of Weapon X, Aldo Ferro used his own name as one of the triggers. It was his 'personal' addition in programming of the Wolverine -- insurance on his part. Aldo did it so that he could control the Wolverine, in case the government saw it fit to eliminate the people who were involved in the project. In case they turned Wolverine on him.

"Uncle Aldo saved the government a lot of money with his experiment, and with what they paid him, he now has a very comfortable nest egg. He always was the business minded one."

"So where is this uncle of yours?"

"He lives in Madripoor." Theo looked intently at Logan; he already knew what Logan was thinking. "Whatever you're planning Logan, it's not the smartest move."

"Are you tryin' to protect your uncle, is that it?"

Theo shook his head. "Uncle Aldo isn't done with you yet Logan. He's been trying to find you for the last fifteen years, and believe me it's not for a heartfelt reunion. If he finds you, you're going to wish you killed yourself first." Theo reached out across the table to Logan. Theo's fingers touched Logan's temples; he opened a link, showing Logan what Aldo Ferro had done to other mutants like him, the same fate that was reserved for Logan should their paths cross.

Logan looked Theo dead in the eye. "I'm still goin' to see him."

"I understand. I did warn you though."

Logan knew the decision to go after Aldo Ferro was his idea. Yet for the life of him Logan didn't know why the entire situation felt like a setup. Something didn't add up. And the only thing that kept coming back was the fact, Theo Ferro knew him-- _too_ well. Logan was willing to bet, there were details in Theo's story that Theo _conveniently _forgot to mention. But Logan guessed whatever answers he needed lay with Aldo Ferro in Madripoor.

Logan should have listened to his instincts.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry for the lateness of this chappy, my 7 month old lap top decided to crash on me, taking with it everything that matters - I swear I'm still grieving over my lost data (I know, I know I really should learn to back up my stuff) ... Thanks for the reviews, they kept me from tossing this story :D

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**Chapter 7**

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Jean Grey is not lost, but standing in the middle of Kyoto station without a shred of Japanese to aid her she felt she may as well be in the middle of the Sahara desert with a camel for company. She does not relish the idea of being the damsel in distress, but she cannot help but wish someone would rescue her from this predicament.

It's the height of summer, but in this open air station Jean feels comfortably cool. She notes there isn't a single pillar in the vast station, and Jean's gaze wanders upward. The steel and glass ceiling of the station is like gazing at a dissected building, its skeletal structure on proud display. The ceiling arches upwards, lending the illusion of suspended weightlessness.

From where Jean is standing, she can see several shops and boutiques. To her left there are three tiers going up, with escalators rising to dizzying levels. At least one of the tiers has chairs and some parasols - most probably a food court. Jean comes to the conclusion that Kyoto station is much more than just a regular station, people shopped, dined and relaxed here.

As Jean watches the people who pass her by, her jet lag brain is trying to decide who could aid her best in English and directions. She spies a woman wearing a red and white kimono and takes two steps in her direction only to see the woman half turn, with a cell phone to her ear — sounding very much in the middle of a heated argument, even if it is in Japanese there are certain things that transcend language.

A group of children in smart blue uniforms weave by, Jean steps out of the way and backs into three elderly women carrying crisp shopping bags.

She murmurs her apologies in English, the ladies look at her perplexed, and they hurriedly go on their way, disappearing in a thick of shoppers.

A rush of commuters emerges from the escalators that leads down to the train platforms; briskly walking, tugging their upright luggage on wheels behind them.

Jean shifts her weight; she swears her black cabin bag gained a kilo or two since she lifted it off the luggage conveyor belt at Osaka Kansai airport. Scott's idea to Fed-Ex the bulk of her wardrobe to Japan was sheer genius. She hates to think how she would manage that amount of luggage when two is already trying her patience.

Yet at the time Scott suggested it, all she wanted to do was hit him.

The original plan to leave within a day or two after agreeing to Ayumu Tanaka's terms, turned into a week. Jean could not bear the thought to leaving her life behind on such short notice without a definite timetable of return, she was fortunate Mr. Tanaka agreed to her extension.

It took Jean and Scott half the day to pack everything she owned. After they were done, Jean scanned the room; it looked like she was never even there. Evicted. Exiled. It felt like a sentence, and it felt permanent.

"So when do you want to have these boxes sent? We can have it in Japan overnight; cost of course is not a problem." Scott was like this from the moment Jean told him of her decision to leave for Japan. He assumed his leader persona, Cyclops. And it was Cyclops who took charge, talking to her in the same tone he uses when giving out battle orders to the X-men. He presided over this mission, and damned be all if this was not going down as planned.

"I don't really care, you decide." Jean was tired of his helpfulness. She was tired of him. Jean left the room, wondering when Scott Summer decided to bail out on her.

It was clear to Jean; Scott was alright with her departure. He was acting as if he was just sending her off on a long weekend rather than a foreign country on the other side of the globe. She felt like he could not get her on that plane to Japan fast enough. He wasn't going to miss her, and Jean intended to make the rest of the week difficult for Scott.

"He can go to hell." Jean muttered as she walked down the hallway.

Jean's course of action did not have the intended effect. She forgot the amount of restrain Scott was capable of, even when she deliberately pushed his buttons. Jean would see Scott's jaw tense, his lips pursed and thin. She could see he was holding back his anger, but she felt none of it through their psi-link. And he would gaze at her in the same manner he would a troublesome student, which only fueled her anger all the more.

In her mind Jean was convinced Scott was avoiding a confrontation, so he could avoid a messy break-up. It seemed the only plausible reason for his eagerness to see her leave for Japan. It was this line of thinking that led her to give Scott the ring back after an argument over her flight schedule.

"So is that it?" Scott asked his voice taut. "We're calling off our engagement over your flight schedule? Just because you want to book a later flight that has been closed for weeks."

Jean sat on the edge of their bed, her eyes wandered about the room. She intended for Scott go on a monologue for a while and feign disinterest.

"What's the hell is the matter with you Jean? I've been walking on eggshells around you the entire week."

"Can't wait to be rid of me."

"What? Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Isn't that why you're planning everything? My whole schedule of activities; the reason why you said we could get everything done in two days. The reason why you were more than a little annoyed when I told you I managed to extend my stay for an entire week." Jean shrugged nonchalantly. "That could be it."

Scott stood there in silence.

"I figure if you're having cold feet about the wedding, I might as well give you back the ring. That way I'll save myself the trouble of wondering what I did wrong to deserve the cold shoulder while in Japan." Jean could feel the tears threatening to spill behind her eyes. She clasped her hands, and dug her nails into them. The biting pain focused her on anger. "I never once asked you for a proposal, never hinted at it for all the ten years we were together. I can see now why it took you so long to ask me."

"When you are wrong, you are so _wrong_…" Scott said his voice barely above a whisper, every syllable a hammered accusation in Jean's ears. His anger ripped open with her words. She looked up from her hands; he stood across the room, back turned to her looking out a window.

Scott managed to put up a wall in their psi-link, and now Jean could see why. Jean slowly began to feel Scott's anxiety over her departure, but he did not know how to deal with those emotions without telling her or letting her feel them through their psi-link. He hid the feelings, and dealt with it the only way he knew how, by assuming some form of control over the situation. He thought that if he could be strong for the both of them, it would make Jean's departure less painful. Instead it drove them further apart.

Jean didn't know what to say. She felt a wave of remorse for all her foolishness. More than anything she wished she could go back to the beginning of the week and do things differently. Jean wished she hadn't given the ring back.

_What have I done?_

Jean telepathically reached out to him, and sent him a mental image of her holding his hand.

Scott crossed the room and took the ring from the nightstand. He felt around his neck for the chain, found its clasp and, took it off. It was the platinum chain Jean gave him on their first Christmas together as a couple. He slid the ring along the chain, sat beside Jean and drew the chain around her neck.

She watched Scott, his face concentrated on securing the clasp of the chain. A rueful smile curled up from Jean's lips, she missed him already. She began to form an apology, but he silenced her with a kiss.

_No apologies._

"I'll still be here when you come back, I promise." And Scott took her hand in his.

OoO

Jean is startled as she feels a small cold hand take hers. She looks down and sees a Caucasian girl looking up at her. The girl is around eight years old. She has soft brown curly hair that barely touches her shoulders, and doe like eyes. She is wearing a white summer dress. Jean is certain she has never seen the child before yet there is an air of familiarity about her.

_Poor thing must be terrified to be lost in such a big place._

"Are you lost?"

The girl shakes her head, her face devoid of emotion. She starts to walk, her loose curls bouncing with every step as she heads towards the eastern wall of the station, with Jean in hand. Before Jean can ask where they are headed, the girl stops and directs Jean's attention to a glass panel on the wall. The panel's screen is illuminated by a blue light, with the image of a hand on the foreground. The girl nods to Jean, motioning her to touch the panel on the wall.

Jean still doesn't understand, but places her hand on the glass panel anyway. The instant Jean's hand makes contact with the glass panel she is overwhelmed by a tidal wave of information coursing through her, involuntarily shutting her eyes in the process. In a few seconds it's over. Somewhat disoriented, Jean quickly draws her hand away from the glass panel.

A Japanese couple breeze by Jean, and she hears them talking about their menu for dinner… in English. She catches sight of a white banner and on it is the announcement of the grand opening of the renovated department store in one of the station's underground levels, written in English.

"Hello," It's the woman in the red and white kimono that she tried to approach earlier. She's talking to her in perfect English with a hint of a Japanese accent. "I see you found our Translator."

Jean is seized by a moment of panic.

"Did you see a little girl here? Brown curly hair, she was wearing a white dress."

"You lost your daughter?"

"No not my daughter… Have you seen her?"

"I am certain you were alone when you approached the Translator, I did not notice anyone with you. Did you loose her on the train platform perhaps?"

"No, she was right here-"

"Maybe we can find her with an announcement on the PA system. What is her name?"

Jean turns red. "I do not know. I thought she was lost, she led me to the Translator."

"Oh," The woman frowns. "Well, I doubt a foreign child would know about the Translators, since those have been installed only three days ago to coincide with the Obon Festival." The woman pauses and almost looks bashful as she says. "Perhaps the girl was a friendly ghost?"

Jean finds it odd the woman would use those words, and it makes her feel uncomfortable. She wants to correct the woman for what Jean supposes is a wrong choice of words. "You mean guardian angel."

"No - friendly ghost. The Obon is what you call in your culture Halloween. This is the time of year when our ancestral ghosts return for three days. We hoped that we could test the Translator during this time, because of the large number of tourists. Unfortunately the Translator is designed only for telepathic mutants."

And there it was, she is being haunted by a ghost, and the more she thought of it the more Jean got the unshakeable feeling she did know the girl. _You can't save them all Jean._

Jean's hand curls into a fist. _I should've saved her. _

"Is there a bus that can take me to the village of Matsurika Taki?"

The woman in the kimono bows to Jean, and smiles. "May I make a better suggestion? You can hire a limousine taxi instead; it will take you to your destination much faster and in comfort."

Jean sighs, relief washing over her; she's been fighting to keep her eyes open, because as far as her body is concerned she's supposed to be in her fourth REM cycle back in New York.

"Yes, that is an excellent suggestion thank you."

Jean takes one last look at the technologic marvel that rescued her, still amazed at how different the reception to mutants Japan has compared to her own country. For the first time Jean notices the company responsible for the Translator's creation. Tanaka Inc.

The woman wearing the kimono volunteers to escort Jean to where the limousine taxis are. Before Jean leaves, she asks the kind Japanese woman to put out an announcement on the PA system for the girl. Even before Jean finishes the request, she knows no child will show up. And no one will be looking for the child.

In the slightest chance the little girl was indeed real, at very least Jean returned the favor. How strange to think that a little girl set her on her way to become a doctor and another would knock her off that very path. Jean pushes the unwelcome thoughts out of her mind, and hopes she will not run into anymore ghosts.

OoO

Twenty minutes later, standing in Ayumu Tanaka's villa in the village of Matsurika Taki, Jean Grey is staring at a different kind of ghost.

Jean was greeted at the gate by one of the servants in the villa who proceeded to tell her her 'companion' arrived a few minutes earlier than she.

"What are you doing here?" The statement sounds much too sharp than Jean intended.

Logan's eyebrow rises at this. "I could be askin' you the same question. I was in the neighborhood."

"I was invited here. By Mr. Tanaka."

"It's Master Ayumu. If you're gonna stay here you'd better get used to addressin' him the proper way. Invited? Like a student?"

"Where exactly is 'in the neighborhood'?"

"Madripoor." Logan says. "Are you his student?"

"What were you doing in Madripoor?" _I'm sure there was an article in today's paper about that place._

Logan lets out a sigh. "Look, I'll trade stories with you Red. I'll tell you what I was doin' in Madripoor if you tell me why you're wearin' what looks like an engagement ring on a chain around your neck."

Jean's hand flies to her neck. _How does he manage to shut people down with a few choice words?_

Logan grunts at the silence that ensues. "So much for catchin' up."

"Logan-san you brought a date?" Ayumu Tanaka's tone is one of incredulous surprise. From that one statement, it's apparent Logan stretched his welcome a little too far in a previous visit.

Logan looks annoyed at the suggestion. "She's not my date, she's Jean Grey."

Ayumu Tanaka's cataract white eyes seem to stare directly at Logan. The Japanese man is unusually tall, almost as tall as Scott in fact. He has short black hair, combed and carefully parted to one side. He is wearing a light blue colored samue, an attire commonly used in the past as work clothes for priests and monks. It is the same attire Jean has come to associate with lounge wear.

"Are you certain of that Logan-san because-"

"If she is my date, Master Ayumu," Logan quickly interrupts, his voice taking on a slight Japanese accent. "We would not be here; we would be performing 'The Raised Missionary' instead."

Jean gasps audibly at Logan's statement.

Logan looks at Jean with surprise written on his face.

Ayumu Tanaka clucks his tongue and shakes his head. "You really should be careful of your language Logan-san. But I am delighted to see Jean-san understands Japanese."

Logan's eyes narrow. "You never told me you knew Japanese."

"I don't. There was this device in Kyoto Station -"

"The Translator," Ayumu Tanaka says, delighting in the sound of the word.

"It is a wonderful invention Master Ayumu." Jean says in Japanese.

"The things we can accomplish when mutants and humans work and live in harmony."

Jean smiles, she knows the statement marks the beginning of her sabbatical.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: This chappy has been sitting in my account for more than a month or two (I've sort of been writing this thing backwards). I've been trying to tweak this chappy to fit the rest of the story, unfortunately it's going to end up as useless fluff filler... my muse decided to take off after my lap top incident, did I mention I'm still in mourning? :(

I previewed my earlier chapters, and I realized my note stating that this was not quite turning out as the Logan/Jean fic I was hoping for was gone. I should edit my note in chapter one about the Scott bashing too (hangs down head in shame) -- this still is a Logan/Jean fic (flashes Logan/Jean shipper ID to Fantasyfreak) but like I said before not quite the type I started out to write. Thanks for all the reviews btw :D

* * *

**Chapter 8**

* * *

Every day, for the past three weeks Jean had combat training with Logan in the morning. And every day since she got to Japan, there was hardly a breeze that passed over them. Summer was over, yet nature would not grant them the comfort of dissipating the heat. There was not even the hint of rain in the air, and this usually was the time of year when rainstorms were supposed to be on cue. Then again Jean knows weather gods and goddesses are never around when they are needed.

As Jean lies on her back in the dojo, she muses that she has practically memorized this particular ceiling, enough to notice its color and areas of discoloration due the wear and tear of time. She makes a mental note to suggest to Master Ayumu to repaint it and maybe clear a few cobwebs that she spied in the farther corners of the dojo. She starts to wonder what the Danger room's ceiling looks like, in all her years training there she does not recall being on her back long enough to even take notice. She starts to speculate if there are cobwebs there too.

"Red, nap time is over, get back on your feet." She groans inwardly. _What's the rush? I'm going to be on my back in two minutes anyway._

And from the way Logan is smiling she managed to throw these thoughts at him telepathically once again. She is almost afraid to look at him, let alone hear what innuendo he has in response to yet another of her telepathic blunders. But she knows this bait is too good to pass, and like a fine Swiss watch she mentally counts down to the scheduled response… _three… two… one…_

"Thirty seconds." Logan says. _And there you have it ladies and gentlemen._

She attacks, he parries, grabs the collar of her keiko-gi. He swipes the back of her legs and she falls backwards, with him pinning her. Logan's face is so close to her, she can feel his breath on her cheek. A naughty smile curls up around his lips, and she curses herself as she feels her cheeks burn with color. He casually brushes a stray hair from her face with his index finger, the touch sending an electric shock through Jean.

Before Jean can catch her breath he gets up and pulls her up with him. She can see he enjoyed making her blush - _bastard_; he always enjoys getting her bothered.

Still with that Cheshire cat grin on his face Logan is now in attack stance. Jean sighs, there's _no way_ she'll be able to wipe that smug grin off his face.

After two hours of combat training Jean feels sore over areas that are still sore from a week ago. Logan reaches for Jean's arm as she turns to leave the dojo.

"Red, you gotta learn to anticipate your opponent's next move, alright? Your footwork is much improved though. Same time tomorrow then." He gives her a friendly pat on the shoulder.

Jean nods. "Okay."

It was Master Ayumu's decision for Jean to learn combat training. He reasoned that martial arts is a form of discipline both of mind and body, which would help in her meditation. And this in turn would help her in controlling her powers. He said that it was fortunate that Logan arrived when he did. Master Ayumu noted that westerners are not particularly fond of physical contact, he reasoned since she already knew Logan, she would be more at ease with him.

Master Ayumu couldn't have been more wrong. Other than putting her on a constant defensive, the man enjoys christening people with names that only he can get away with. The first time she met him he called the Professor – wheels, and Scott, well he has a number of names for him. It was only a matter of time before he found her a suitable pet name, and now she's been reduced to a color. She wonders if he'd be amused if she started calling him "claws".

Jean heads off to take a shower, determined to scrub away the memory of Logan's touch against her cheek. It's a short walk along a winding stone path from the dojo to the main pavilion which is their main living quarters; the air filled with the pulsating hum of the cicada insects.

As she takes off her sweat drenched keiko-gi, Jean hopes she won't doze off in the middle of her meditation exercises with Master Ayumu later in the day. Jean would like to blame the hot humid weather, but she knows it's because she is not used to quieting her mind. Even now, almost a month after she severed her psi-links with Scott and the Professor, she still is not used to the stillness inside her head and on a certain level she finds it unsettling.

In the corner of her room Jean spies a beige cotton kimono which she hasn't used since she arrived in the villa. She vaguely remembers Master Ayumu tell her about a traditional public bath on the villa's premise, _you can strip down and don on the kimono whilst making your way to the public bath _he said. The idea of a long soak in a tub of water against a quick shower is too seductive, and on an impulse she decides to try a different bathing experience.

Jean learned that villas in Japan were not the single building structures she's familiar with. Villas in Japan were a number of buildings, or pavilions scattered through out the property -- and in this particular property one hundred and forty acres of land. The main pavilion sits in the center of the property.

Jean heads out towards the public bath, armed with her toiletries of soap and shampoo. Master Ayumu said that they had towels in the public baths, so Jean did not bother bringing one with her. She recalls that the public bath is a pavilion with blue clay roof tiles. Jean finally spies the building, nestled in a cluster of bamboos. Her pace quickens as she approaches the building.

Jean sits at the entrance of the pavilion she carefully takes off her wooden slippers and arranges them side by side; in her haste to enter the baths she is blind to the presence of another pair of slippers at the door.

Jean slides the shoji door and steps inside; she freezes at the sight of Logan. His back is turned to her as she sees the top of his keiko-gi slide off his shoulders. Before she can bolt out in flustered embarrassment, Logan turns his head towards her, without the slightest hint of modesty on his part at being caught half naked.

"Red if you wanted to see me take off my clothes all you had to do is ask."

Jean looks down at her feet, trying to concentrate on anything but the memory of Logan's bare back and the glimpse of his chest as he turned. She hears him approach her, she feels like a fool when all she had to do is apologize for the blunder and quickly back out of the public bath. Now she feels trapped.

She looks at his feet; he is standing right in front of her. She knows she is blushing and wonders in just how many shades.

"Red." Jean forces her gaze to meet Logan's. He looks at her, with his arms across his bare chest. "I'm guessing this is your first time to use a _sento_."

Jean looks back at him with a blank expression. She starts to play with a stray thread sticking out of her cotton kimono. _I'm the proverbial fish out of water._

"_Sento _is what they call a public bath and there are rules you have to follow in here." Logan continues. He sighs, despite his earlier remark about taking off his clothes; he does not seem to relish the idea of having to instruct Jean on the proper etiquette on public bathing.

"Look, I'll teach them to you." Logan motions to the room. "This room is the changing room. You take off your clothes in here and stick them in those baskets on that shelf. In your case the _yukata_. "

"What?"

He takes down one of the square woven baskets from the shelf. "Your cotton kimono is called a _yukata_. You fold your clothes and put them in here, and you take the towel inside." The white oblong towel couldn't have been any bigger than a large handkerchief.

"That's not a towel…" Jean starts. "That's a face towel…" Why did she think they had big fluffy towels?

"This towel," Logan continues, ignoring Jean's statement. "Will be used to cover yourself… Japanese people aren't fond of displays of pubic hair." Logan returns the basket on the wooden shelf.

This was becoming as pleasant as listening to a lecture about sex from her parents.

They walk through an archway, and beyond are two tubs carved out of stone, sunk into the floor, side by side. Beside these sunken tubs is an opening looking into a secluded miniature rock garden. Judging by the steam escaping the right sided tub, Jean guesses that one is the hot tub and the other is the cold tub. The room had a restrained elegance to it. The floor underneath Jean's feet is made of stone as well it's uneven with areas of roughness and smoothness. She can see the same unevenness echoed in the tubs' edge, roughness tamed from centuries of usage.

On the wall opposite the tubs and the garden are a line of shower nozzles, with small wooden stools directly beneath them.

Jean's attention wanders back to the cold tub, she looks at it longingly, eager to be rid of the heat and sweat that clung to her body.

"Red listen up, because this is the most important part of this mini cultural tour. Do not and I repeat do not head directly into the tubs." Logan guessed her thoughts as he caught her stare. "You have to wash up over here before hoppin' in the tub. I mean you have to be really, really clean before gettin' in. And make sure you're sittin' down when washin'."

Jean thinks that Logan makes whole thing sound like a ritual, which eerily conjures up images of virgins preparing for a sacrifice to ancient pagan gods.

"This is where the second use of your towel comes in, you scrub yourself with it. After that you're good to go, to sit and enjoy a soak in the tub."

"So I have to be suds free when I get into a tub?"

"Yes."

"When do I shampoo my hair before or after the soak?"

"Jesus Red I don't know, it's a matter of choice I guess. So are you goin' to take a dip or not?"

Jean contemplates on this, she's not exactly ecstatic at the thought of sharing a tub with someone she hardly knows, someone who obviously has less than chivalrous intentions towards her. She thinks about coming back later, but she the last thing she wants is to give Logan the satisfaction of knowing that he managed to get to her again.

Jean walks back into the changing room, and nervously undoes a knot from her cotton kimono. She can feel Logan's eyes in the back of her head, watching and waiting for that flash of skin beneath her kimono. If she were to listen to his thoughts, she's certain she would hear him urging her to go oh-so-slightly faster in her disrobing, punctuated with a phrase like, _that's right baby show me what you got_.

Just as she is about to undo the final knot on her kimono, she turns to Logan. He is standing beneath the archway, leaning into the wall with an expectant smile on his face. She feels violated. Jean tries to speak with a cool tone, despite her rage at his enjoyment of the show.

"Are you going to watch me undress?"

"Yeah I could do that. Or you could use the _sento _for females next door…" As soon as Logan says this he barely manages to dodge the straw basket that flew at him.

Jean looks at him with cold fury. Logan can tell she wants to say something, but he guesses her rage is impairing her speech. He looks back at her mildly surprised at the outburst; she obviously didn't bother to ask if it was a co-ed _sento_, and now she's blaming him for her mistake in assumption, _typical_, he thinks. Actually, Logan was hoping she'd gone as far as dropping the kimono that way he would have had a gratuitous view of her naked body, before telling her that there hardly were any co-ed _sentos _in Japan. It only seemed fair to see Jean shed some clothing, after all she saw him take off his keiko-gi. Besides if Jean wanted to start a co-ed _sento_, who was he to object.

As Logan watches Jean heatedly collect her toiletries and leave, he shakes his head and feels slighted she didn't bother to thank him for showing her the proper etiquette in a Japanese public bath.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Sorry for the long delay in updating, once again my so-called life caught up with me.

Thanks once again to all of you who reviewed, shows that you care :D

I love the reader traffic, I always thought there were four people who followed this story, but there are really just five :P hehehe

And yes **The Dark Knight** rules :D

* * *

**Chapter 9**

* * *

With his eyes closed, Logan knows he is drenched in blood. Its slick, viscous feel, clings to everything. The metallic smell is so strong he can taste copper in the back of his throat. He moves his boot slightly and underfoot is the unmistakable slippery, slimy feel of blood spilt.

He knows this is real. He knows this all happened, even though his mind quietly tells him this is just a recurring nightmare. He knows that when he opens his eyes, he'll be clean, without a trace of blood on him. But he knows he butchered them all, in a haze of blood, flesh and bones.

But who?

Logan opens his eyes, there isn't a trace of blood on his clothes or on his person. There is still that faint smell of blood hanging in the air. He's alone, standing in front of the heavy oak doors of Aldo Ferro's mansion. The midnight air pregnant with the sweet and sickly smell of moonflowers. He does not recall how he got past the gate or the security. And it is these missing fragments of time that sinks a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. Everything is unnaturally quiet, as if the world were holding its breath, bracing itself for something terrible. Something inevitable.

He swallows hard, gritting his teeth, white fury seething inside him, it hits him, what these missing memories means.

They've been using him as their personal assassin, subdued to do the bidding of Aldo Ferro. And this is not what Theo showed him back in Canada: this, was just for fun. This was Aldo's way of showing Logan who's in charge.

A singular thought flashes in Logan's mind, kill Aldo so he can be free of his hold. And he promises to himself Aldo will not die a quick death. Oh no, because that would be too easy. He will cut him open, slowly and -

"Don't trust everything you see in there Logan." His head sharply turns to the sound of the voice, and its Theo. Standing a little off to his right.

_Was he always there? And what the hell was he doing here?_

Logan's claws bare, and he barely stops himself from stabbing Theo, despite his helpful words. Rage is eclipsing reason, the Wolverine was taking over. He can feel a deep rumble inside his chest, a warning growl escapes his lips. "Are you going to stop me?"

"Why would I do that?" And there is that smile. A knowing smile, and Logan realizes this is exactly what Theo wanted. He's been played by the uncle and the nephew, like some pawn, _a goddamned pawn._ Theo, the son-of-a-bitch didn't remove the trigger that activated the Wolverine, he merely changed it to something else. It slides into place, and it is enough to send reason over the edge. He didn't like to be used but for once he shares a common goal with one of his manipulators. But that will not spare Theo once he settles the score with Aldo.

He retracts the claws.

Wolverine opens the oak doors, in the low amber light he can see he is in a large circular room, he can smell the guards; sweaty hands gripping their guns – armed to the teeth. The eruption of gunfire – _Uzis by the sound_ - breaks the silence, at two thousand rounds per minute. A hail of bullets ripping into his flesh from above. The pounding force drives Wolverine to his knees. He now hears the metallic clicks, releasing spent magazines, sounding off almost in unison; he mentally counts the number of guards from the sounds.

_Fifteen... twenty... thirty... _

He hears the slap of new magazines clicking in place.

He should be healing by now. Shit, he's bleeding heavily – they were on to his regenerative abilities. Something with the bullets. His chest and back feels like its been set ablaze.

"Not so tough without your regenerative abilities are you Logan?" The voice echoes through out the room in barely concealed glee.

Aldo_._

"I can still take you out."

"I've studied you, and do you really think that after fifteen years I haven't figured out ways to kill you? Still bleeding are we?"

Wolverine tries to get up. He's riddled with holes, his clothes soaking in his blood. Jesus, it's getting harder to breath.

_How does drowning in your own blood appeal to you?_

Aldo is in his head too.

If he can only make it underneath the banisters, it might give his healing factor enough time to kick in. What the hell were in those bullets?

_Anticoagulants modified of course, if you can't stop bleeding, you can't heal._

Fuck, he isn't going to die here. Wolverine is barely on his feet.

_Tell you what; I'm in a generous mood. Why don't you run for cover and I won't shoot you. _

Yeah, trust you just like that huh? He starts to move towards the nearest alcove, he wasn't going to run. Pain from the bullet wounds is steadily getting worst, spreading like wildfire.

_Do you know how long anticoagulants stay in the blood Logan? _

Does he ever shut up? Count on a telepath to be a nonstop yapper. Wolverine presses his back against the alcove's wall, and slowly he inches his way towards the staircase. If this is going to go down badly, he is going to make damned sure to take several guards with him. And he knows exactly how many of them there are to take out. From here the guards don't have a clear shot.

Well what do you know; Aldo's actually a man of his word. A shadow of a smile spreads across Wolverine's face.

He's vaguely aware he's painting the wall with his blood. His blood that is fast thinning into water. Rage and adrenaline is driving him forward, because mortals do not survive this kind of abuse. And right now he's beginning to feel very mortal.

Wolverine can't smell anything other than his own blood; he can't smell the guards anymore.

All he smells is the overwhelming scent of moonflowers.

He presses on towards the stairs. Wolverine can feel his heart rate picking up; he can hear the blood pounding in his ears and he is not sure if it's because of the adrenaline or a pending crash.

Wolverine reaches the foot of the marbled stairs, and slowly makes his way up, he holds on to the railing, to steady himself. As he reaches the top of the stairs his claws are bared, his senses primed, focused and sharpened.

The first guard manages to raise his weapon, before claws connect with the gun, slicing it in half. A shout of alarm warns the others, as Wolverine's left drives the claws into the guard's gut. The first guard goes down. Wolverine registers two more ahead, just as they open fire. He lunges at them, the bullets hitting home but barely slowing him down. With a fierce growl, he plows the claws into both guards. Wolverine grabs one by the throat and secures the guard in a choke hold to act as a shield from future gunfire.

He can see the other guards pause and slowly back away as he advances. He waits for them to open fire, he's not faster than a bullet but he's a hell of a lot faster than they can change magazines. All he needs is for them to run out of bullets - then again all they need is for him is to run out of blood.

"Kill him." Aldo's voice lazily drifts over the waiting silence.

Wolverine grits his teeth, as the familiar stutter of Uzis rips through the air. The sound seeming to go on forever. There's a brief pause, and Wolverine knows what that means.

_My turn._

Wolverine releases the dead guard and charges at the nearest ones, in a berserker rage. Cuts one in half, and decapitates the other. He mercilessly pounds through the wall of guards that separates him from Aldo, with the efficiency of a honed weapon.

The last two guards manage to shot Wolverine before he slices their arms clean off. Standing before him is Aldo Ferro who looks like a sixty year old version of Theo. Aldo hasn't made an attempt to escape.

With a feral cry, he drives his claws deep into Aldo's gut, and in an upward motion rips him all the way up to his chest. He watches the telepath collapse to the floor.

Logan retracts the claws, rage spent. He's breathing heavily, his blood mixed with that of the guards. He feels dizzy, and leans into the wall for support. He reorients himself in the direction he came from and finds himself looking over the carnage. His brow furrows then his eyes widen in horror, what he sees hits him like a sledgehammer in the gut.

They weren't guards at all. They were people in their sleeping clothes.

A man and a woman; a family.

Logan swallows hard, his eyes blinking furiously as the agonizing details start to sink in.

Mother. Father. And, oh dear God, children... he can make out the little girls, there are two of them, with mousy brown hair, in pigtails. Limbs strewn about, like plastic dolls carelessly taken apart.

Logan is frozen where he stands. The father was defending his family, they didn't stand a chance. They never stood a chance.

XxX

Logan awakes with a start. His heart pounding, the roar of blood in his ears. He's drenched in sweat, not blood. _Not blood._

His breath is painful and ragged, gasping for air. Hungry for air, and his lungs cannot fill up fast enough. His mind still disoriented as to where he is.

"Logan," The sound of the voice snaps him back into the present.

Jean.

Japan.

Safe.

She stands in the doorway to his room, clothed in olive green silken pajamas. Auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her face shrouded in shadows cast by the hallway lights, but in that darkness, he can see her eyes raw with pain.

Logan knows she's been crying. She's been crying every night for a week, and this is the first time he fell asleep before she did. Logan had a good idea who was the source of Jean's tears. But she didn't talk about it, and he never asked. She had been gone from the Mansion for a month and Boy Scout still hadn't made an appearance. It didn't take a genius to know Scott's apparent lack of interest in visiting her was the source of their quarrels. It was painful to watch her wait for his call, always checking her cell phone, as if it were a vital link to life.

And after they do talk, all he can sense from Jean is tension and disappointment, but mostly sadness.

That's the thing with Boy Scout, even if Jean refused to see it - he's married to the job as leader of the X-men. And she is only the mistress. A ring would not change priorities or loyalties.

A part of him wanted to comfort her, but they weren't friends, they were barely sensei and student. And he'd done a bang up job of putting Jean on defensive; he knew she'd treat any act of kindness on his part with suspicion. Maybe even throw it back in his face, so – no. He wouldn't go to her.

But he would stay up with her, and be with her; even if it is from behind so many walls. Wait till her sobs finally fade into soft breathing, and she let sleep claim her. Only in sleep would he allow his thoughts to go to her, to comfort her in that place of dreams. And tell her all the things he should be saying in the light of day instead of the cover of night. He hopes she hears him because come morning he won't allow her to see how much he was beginning to care. Come morning they will go back to a perpetual stalemate, regarding one another from across defenses they built around themselves.

And yet here she is in his doorway.

"Are you okay?" Jean hadn't moved from where she stood, she obviously learned from a past incident in the Mansion to keep distance till he woke up from one of his nightmares.

He wanted to snap at her to get out; he didn't want anyone to see him like this. At the same time he wanted her to be close by with a need that is almost desperate. But he wouldn't say it. He would never say it. Jesus, he felt like he was drowning in a rip tide of emotions.

"Did I wake you?" He deliberately made his voice sound gruff. He shudders as a wind sweeps in through an open window; his mind faintly registers the sound of rain.

"No I picked up a feeling of distress, I assumed it was you." She moves towards his nightstand and pours water from a glass pitcher into a tumbler.

He probably created some phantom link with her when he sent his thoughts to her at night. And she would probably nit pick him about it. If she does, he'll throw her out, he's in no mood to verbally fence with her.

"Did you see anything of my nightmare?"

"No. I just felt you." Jean's voice sounds heavy and pinched. She hands him the glass of water, their hands brush. He waits for Jean to start grilling him, when she doesn't, he realizes that the idea of a mind link never occurred to her, but more importantly, her concern for him is genuine. He feels a warmth take hold of his heart. He does not want this from her. He cannot need this from her.

With every sip of water the nightmare ebbs away into the abyss of forgetfulness. He holds the empty glass between both hands, the coolness calming. He was going to be alright. Yet he couldn't say the same for Jean. "How are you doin'?"

"It's just a cold, nothing fatal." Jean sniffs again.

Logan knows they're both aware that was not what he meant at all.

"Wanna talk about it?" He ventures, as Jean takes the empty glass from him.

The sound of raindrops fills the silence and the silence stretches out; convincing Logan, Jean didn't hear his question. He turns his head, and looks at Jean, and notices her face glistening with fresh tears.

He reaches for her and tugs her beside him on the bed, his arm wraps around her shoulders. And Logan can feel Jean start to shudder with sobs, her pain surging with the tears, surfacing in full force. She had been deprived of a sympathetic ear who would listen without judgment in this place; she locked up her sorrow during the day, and cry it all at night.

"It's alright, whatever it is; it's goin' to be alright." He pulls her closer, so that her forehead is pressed against his cheek. And he strokes her hair while she cries.

Like this they are just two people seeking comfort in each other, ferrying through the darkness till morning. And for a moment he felt they needed one another.

When her tears are spent, he turns her face to him, and gently dries the dampness from her eyes with his fingers. He tucks the stray strands from her face behind her ears. And he thinks how Scott could bear to leave her out of his sight for a minute, because if she were his...

Before Logan has time to even think, his face is moving closer to Jean's. His lips hovering before hers, a breath away from kissing her.

"Unbelievable." Jean hisses.

The words burn like acid. Logan jerks back, and sees the hardened look in Jean's face. He pulls away from her not sure what he did to earn him that look.

Jean quickly stands. "I should've known you'd take advantage of this." She slams the tumbler on the nightstand. "Just when I thought my opinion of you couldn't sink any lower..."

XxX

After a light shower of rain the damp ground releases heat in waves. This wasn't hell but the humidity was making it feel pretty damned close. Logan's white samue clings to his skin, adding to his discomfort. He approaches the three story pavilion built on the edge of the garden lake, where he knows Master Ayumu will be. This is where Jean has her meditation exercises, and he knows that by this time in the afternoon they're done.

Logan hasn't ventured to the pavilion in years but it once was his favorite part of the villa. Whenever he came here he's filled with a deep sense of peace. On a clear day the placid waters of the lake mirrors the sky, and on those days he felt caught in an existence somewhere between heaven and earth.

This was also the last place he saw Natsuko Tanaka, Master Ayumu's granddaughter, three springs ago. She had just turned twenty five back then and was typically slender like most Japanese women her age. Her face was smooth and delicate, framed by deep black hair. Brown eyes, that shone with a wisdom beyond her years. She had a quiet beauty that people often overlooked.

They were seated on the step that separated the pavilion's hall and the veranda overlooking the lake. The maple trees surrounding the lake was lush and green on that warm spring day. The _haru kaze _- spring wind - carried with it the white petals of the last of the cherry blossoms.

Natsuko's shoulder length hair, pulled to one side, exposing her neck. She cradled his open palm in her hand, her index finger tracing the crease that ran from his thumb across the length of his palm - his lifeline she called it.

She was focused on his open palm. She became conscious of his gaze and a mischievous grin curved on her lips. God, he ached to kiss her.

"So what do you see?" He purposely made his voice so low that she had to lean in closer to hear him. She smelled of peaches and sunshine, she was every bit her namesake - summer child. The nearness of her intoxicating Logan. As a rule he didn't believe in palmistry, or any form of divination for that matter. He always thought of it as silly superstition that gave people excuses as how their life should be lived. But in this case it got Natsuko this close to him, so he didn't mind at all.

"Your future."

"And what does my future hold?"

When her eyes met his, there was a graveness in her expression that made him stop.

The first wooden step leading into the pavilion groans in protest underneath Logan's weight, the sound brings him back to the present. He enters the pavilion, and he knows Master is already aware of his presence.

The blind mutant's telekinesis are his eyes, it sends out pulses every thirty second intervals very much like bats use sound waves to "see" their surrounding. The telekinetic pulse spans in a twenty feet radius in all directions. This gift/skill was not a natural evolution of Master Ayumu's mutation, he trained himself with intense meditation so that the telekinetic bursts did not require him to put conscious thought in the effort. Now it's a reflex that is innate as breathing.

And as far as Logan knows, he is the only mutant who has been able to fashion his mutation to compensate for a disability. As Logan steps into the Japanese mutant's visual radius he can feel the change in the air, charged with ripples of telekinetic energy.

"Logan-san what is it that you wish to speak of?"

They always spoke in Japanese.

"Jean Grey – Master I wish to bow out as her sensei."

Master Ayumu's forehead furrows. "What is it that makes you say this?"

"I do not believe martial arts is the way for her. Jean is a healer, and healers do not inflict harm. This goes against her nature, thus there is no harmony. If she is to win the battle for control of her mutation – she must be one with her chosen discipline." No, he wasn't bowing out of this for personal reasons. Although he knew that her being a telepath was bothering him more than it should have.

"But you did say she has improved since she started."

Improvement was a relative term, and with the rate of Jean's progress, stating that one year is not enough, is actually a kindness. The quality of improvement was what he meant. Master Ayumu knew this... so why is he questioning him?

"Master, she finds herself more on the mat than on her feet. Even when I provoke her she is hesitant to strike. How can you expect her to break bones if she is unwilling to inflict injury? And -" Logan stops himself. His mind begins to race. It dawns on him what it is that he's been doing wrong with Jean's training.

Why didn't he see it from the start? The answer was right there.

It's because he never really wanted the job in the first place. Fact is, he has no patience for teaching, because to Logan things somehow came naturally –or from repressed memory. He always fared well with minimal instruction, to him new skills always had a strange logic which he understood and immediately grasped. Constantly repeating and explaining himself pissed him off to no end, it made him sound like a broken vinyl record, hiccuping the same irritating line over and over again.

Figure it out, was the most he would tell anyone asking for his guidance or tutelage. Logan believes if one wasn't taking initiative in learning – by trial and error - then it wouldn't matter if he instructed them till he turned blue in the face. If they did take that initiative, but bungled in the process, only then would he offer his advice.

Logan is well aware he's a bad teacher, and he never tried to hide that fact. Master knew this too, yet despite of it Master _insisted_ he become Jean's sensei.

"You were saying Logan-san?"

It also dawns on Logan that Master Ayumu probably knew he had been going about Jean's training all wrong. But this was never pointed out to him.

"Master what is the true purpose in my training Jean Grey? You must have known that my way is not her way, yet you allowed me to carry on training her in that manner, knowing I was wasting time."

"Logan-san, has it ever occurred to you that Jean-san is not the only one in training?"

_Of course._ And Logan shakes his head for not realizing it sooner, he should have known.

"You are rightfully a sensei, Logan-san. There is much people can learn from you, despite your broken memories; and, your belief to the contrary. But you must also realize that with the title sensei comes a responsibility to ones students – to make the teachings you pass on, something that is their own. You must learn to understand something of your students, just as you have right now with Jean-san."

"But Master, one month -" Logan still could not reconcile with the time wasted. If he'd known this was what Master Ayumu intended, Jean would be half way back to the Mansion by now. Half way back to Boy Scout's arms, and the thought twists an ugly knot in his stomach.

"I do not see it as wasted time, for it was the time _you_ needed to learn _your _lesson. "

"I understand." Yet there still is that nagging feeling that he hadn't learned his lesson. And it had nothing to do with combat training or martial arts.

"But, you are still troubled."

Logan is not sure he is quite ready for this conversation, but it's a conversation that is long overdue.

"Yes."

"Ah, this is regarding Madripoor I suspect."

Logan nods and his eyes involuntarily shifts sideways. He frowns and ponders where to begin...

"Three months ago I learned I was an experiment by the Canadian government for the program they called Weapon X. I was targeted because of my regenerative abilities to become an assassin, and I am certain I was not the only one. The program took away all my memories, and robbed me of my free will so that I would execute their missions without fail. I went to Madripoor to seek out the psychiatrist they hired to reprogram my mind, fifteen years ago. I hoped he might be able to help me regain my lost memories. But now I believe I was set up to kill him instead, I cannot remember my stay in Madripoor. All I have are recurring nightmares of butchering Aldo Ferro."

At the mention of the name, Logan notices Master Ayumu flinch. In all the years that he has known the Japanese mutant, Logan does not recall ever seeing him react in that manner. And for an instant Logan thinks he imagined it.

"Master is familiar with the name."

"Yes. He was a brilliant doctor, and there are many who still remember him. Well now I know I what happened to him after he was disbarred. Aldo Ferro was a truly evil man, who placed science above human life. He had no ethics, when Aldo resurfaced he went on to experiment on mutants mostly for biologic warfare. He used regenerative mutants to modify deadly viruses. He would inject them with it, and collect samples of the virus when the mutant eventually died. The process would could go on for years, exhausting the healing capacities of the mutant. And they would dispose of the corpses like so much trash. It was a cheaper method to produce a super virus rather than bioengineering one I suppose."

Logan has a recollection of the visions Theo showed with him in Canada. "Business as always." Logan murmurs.

"You are sure it was Aldo Ferro you saw in Madripoor."

"Yes."

"And you are certain you killed him."

Logan nods.

Master Ayumu shrugs. "Well, justice has been served then. The world needs to be spared from people like him."

Logan is at a loss for words. It is not what he expected Master Ayumu to say. It just did not sit right with him.

"I thought Master respected and honored life. I have failed in controlling my rage – Aldo should have been brought to justice, I should not have allowed myself to kill him the way I did. No one deserves such a death not even someone like him."

"You cannot expect justice to be served in Madripoor. It is a country that is corrupted to is very core. How do you suppose Aldo Ferro managed to bypass ethical issues in his experiments on mutants?"

"Master you told me once that revenge is the surest path to destruction. Yet you seem to condone my actions."

Master did not answer, but his jaw tightens and Logan realizes this issue with Aldo Ferro is more personal than Master is willing to share with him. But he has enough respect for the Japanese mutant to not pry, and to trust that in time he will share that piece of information, whatever it may be.

"I will look into this matter Logan-san, and I do not condone your actions. But if fate had placed me in your position, perhaps I would have done the same. Sometimes laws cannot reach those people who deserve to be punished. Sometimes we need to serve justice in our own way."

There is a pause and Logan turns to leave when Master Ayumu calls him back.

"Logan-san, one last thing. Jean-san is a doctor is she not?"

"Yes."

"Do you not find it odd, that she chooses to teach instead of healing people? It seems a waste of so many years of training."

Logan's forehead furrows.

"Doctors are married to hospitals, it is the reason Natsuko decided on another career path."

"How is Natsuko-san?"

"She is to be married in the spring. To a _gaijin_, she met in England."

Logan forces a smile. "I am certain he is an honorable man, and I wish her happiness."

Master Ayumu nods. "I will tell her. She will be pleased to hear news of you."

And Logan leaves, heading off in the direction of the sento.

XxX

Ayumu Tanaka felt sorry for Logan. He shared in Logan's belief he was used. And there were always consequences to ones actions whether by ones volition or otherwise.

Although there did not seem to be much evidence in the news of anything beyond the usual anti-government demonstrations that were common in Madripoor, Ayumu learned a thing of two about the Madripoorian government. One of the government's many talents is suppressing press freedom, and over the decades they became so good at it they elevated it to an art form. So whatever negative news their country garnered, was blunted into half truths.

It will be hard, if Ayumu is to base facts on the news, to discern what exactly Logan-san had been involved in.

However Ayumu was certain of one thing, whoever it was that Logan believed he killed couldn't have been Aldo Ferro. The bastard died over a year ago from liver cancer. The Tanakas learned of Aldo Ferro's death eight months after he was buried. Aldo's passing, like his disbarment was quiet. Ayumu understood the necessity for the secrecy, the Ferro clan feared Aldo's past would catch up with him. Fear that was rightfully placed.

And between his failed practice, work in Weapon X and experimentations on mutants, he earned the ire of many people seeking revenge.

And Aldo Ferro made many enemies in his life, the Tanakas were no exception.

It was a pity really, the Ferros were amongst the few families with distinct mutant lineage who gained respectability not only in Madripoor but in the eyes of the world as well and in one fell swoop they single handedly tainted the world's view of mutants. Now their bloodline is scattered like ashes in the four winds. No roots, no honor, no country. The mighty have truly fallen.

What troubles Ayumu is why _this_ ghost is coming back to haunt his family. For he is not someone who believes in coincidences in life. And after this meeting it confirmed his suspicion Logan was a pawn to some greater scheme.

He feels a growing sense of foreboding, a feeling that Logan's personal incident already set in motion a chain of events that would affect them all. Like ripples in a pond.

Ayumu sighs, as his white eyes moves across the waters of the lake. He will have to leave for Tokyo sooner than scheduled - where he can tap into his network in Madripoor - if he is to get to the root of all this. He hopes that everything will be settled by the time Natsuko comes home from England. After she marries her visits will be sporadic at best, and he intended to spend as much time as he could with his favorite granddaughter.

He wishes he could share the burden of knowledge with Logan with regards to his suspicions but he cannot do that. Ayumu knows Logan will hunt down whoever it was that set him up in the first place. He suspects that the people responsible for Logan's setup are probably counting on Logan's retaliation.

And right now that is Logan-san's weakness – predictability.


End file.
